Resurrection, Part III, Resurrection
by Serialgal
Summary: Part one of a three one-shot series. In Part I, Charlie deals with Don's death; in Part II, Don deals with Charlie's death. Part III connects the two seemingly unrelated stories.


Part III - Resurrection

_A/N: Part III of a series. It is strongly recommended that you read Part I, Death of an Agent, and Part II, Death of a Mathematician, first. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters, although I do claim rights to original story concepts. All characters are fictional; any resemblance to real people, living or dead; is coincidental._

**Resurrection - **_a Numb3rs Series_

**Part III - Resurrection**

Don pushed in through the kitchen door of the Craftsman awkwardly, favoring his arm, still in a sling, and Alan looked up from the sink with a smile. "Donnie! You're here early." His smile faded a bit as he took in Don's face, pale and pinched. "Is your arm hurting you?"

"No, not too bad," Don replied, brushing off the question. He seemed preoccupied, and his next question came out with a sense of urgency. "Is Charlie up yet?"

Alan eyed him, puzzled. "Not yet."

His response seemed to relieve Don for some reason, and he relaxed, although only slightly. "How'd he do this week?"

"Okay," Alan replied, "Better than I expected, although for some reason, he slept in your bedroom last night. Why don't you go wake him? Did you eat breakfast yet?"

Don shook his head, already turning for the door. "No."

"Well, go get him up, and we can eat together."

Don made swiftly for the stairs. He'd worried about Charlie all week; his brother had witnessed his shooting during a raid of suspected arms dealers. Don had been lucky; he'd caught the stray round in his upper arm; if his arm hadn't been down, the bullet might very well have entered the armhole of his vest and penetrated his chest. The last time he'd been shot, Charlie had freaked, going into a mathematical retreat, a mental tailspin similar to what he'd done when their mother died, but this time, he seemed to have taken things in stride, remaining calm during the aftermath, although he'd been panicked initially, when he'd run out to Don in the street. Don had nearly panicked himself then; Charlie had run out in a hail of bullets, and one had buried itself in Don's SUV, barely missing his brother's head.

Actually witnessing the shooting had to have been more traumatic than what Charlie had gone through the first time, and Don didn't know whether to be relieved or unsettled that his brother was taking it so well. He'd hoped that Charlie's recent return to consulting had been generated by a desire to be together, to work with him, but his brother's reaction to the shooting had deepened Don's doubts. After all, Charlie had thrown away his consulting rights with apparent disregard, and now that he had them back, had seemed relatively at ease with the fact that Don had been shot. He'd been supportive, and very concerned afterward, but the fact that he hadn't lost it, at least after his initial panic – well, that was definitely not what Don would have expected. Maybe Don had read too much into Charlie's return to consulting; maybe he had misread the depth of Charlie's feelings for him.

This morning, however, he had something else on his mind; his own nightmares from the night before still loomed sharp in his memory, and he was overwhelmed with the need to see his younger brother. One thing was sure, he would never mix a shot of whiskey and pain pills again – the resulting dreams of Charlie running to help him and getting caught in an explosion had been frighteningly real – so real that he'd been driven to come see his brother that morning. He knew where the nightmare had come from - his subconscious had combined Charlie's dash out to him when he'd been shot, with a Bureau brief Don had just read on how to deal with victims of explosions. He'd been feeling the residual nerves last evening from getting shot, and had downed a shot of whiskey with his pain pill. All of it had combined in a horrific nightmare that left him frantic to see Charlie when he awoke in the morning. It was silly, he knew, but he needed to reassure himself.

The door to his old room was unlatched, and he pushed it open quietly and started forward, but his step slowed as he caught sight of Charlie. His younger brother was curled on his side in Don's old bed, clutching a shirt that Don had left on a chair there, earlier in the week. His eyes were closed but his expression was tortured, even in sleep, and tears were streaming down his face. Maybe Charlie was having a harder time with the shooting than he'd thought – he was apparently having a nightmare of his own, or a delayed reaction of some type. Don felt his breath catch, and stepping to the edge of the bed, sank onto it, his heart full, and gently shook Charlie's shoulder. The shoulder felt solid, and warm, and real, and Don felt a hard knot release in his chest. The memory of his own nightmare still resonated; he could still envision the explosion, Charlie's lifeless, pale face, his body lying motionless on the gurney… He swallowed, hard. The sight in front of him bore too much resemblance to the nightmare for comfort. "Charlie."

Charlie's eyes fluttered open, and Don could see raw pain in them. He frowned with concern. "Charlie, are you okay?"

Charlie blinked, stunned. Don was here – how…? He'd been shot, he was dead – but even as the remnants of the nightmare slipped through Charlie's mind, still so vivid and so real, he saw the sling on his brother's arm and remembered. The stake-out, the raid, the shooting – Don had been shot, to be sure, but not in the chest. Unlike in his dream, Don's arm had been down; the bullet had hit him in the shoulder instead of entering underneath the arm. He was alive, he was alive, Charlie thought wildly, but he was still deeply entrenched in a dream that seemed more real than reality, and tears started again as uncontrollable emotions surged through him.

Don could see shock begin to appear on Charlie's face, as he struggled to sit up and choked out his name. "Donnie?" Without waiting for an answer, Charlie flung his arms around Don, who let out a soft grunt of surprise, shifting so that his brother's almost frantic grasp didn't pull on his injured shoulder. Charlie was shaking, tears soaking into Don's shirt, and he buried his face in Don's good shoulder. Although the sudden display of emotion was a bit unnerving, Don reveled in the contact – the embrace was just what he needed at the moment, and he returned it as hard as he could with his good arm. Charlie was here, and he was alive…

"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay, Chuck. Bad dream?"

Charlie drew in a shuddering breath, and pulled away reluctantly – the sensation of his brother's strong body, warm and alive, had been just what he needed. Still, he was probably embarrassing Don, and Charlie struggled to control himself as he ran a hand over his face. It took him a moment to find his voice, and when it came out, it was thick sounding, and shaky. "Y-yeah. I'm s-s-sorry. I just thought…"

His voice trailed off and he looked at Don through wet lashes, and swallowed. "Are you ashamed of me?"

Don's had felt tears come to his own eyes, and the moisture and the sudden change of subject made him blink.

"Ashamed of you?"

Charlie swallowed again and wiped his nose. "For the email I sent, for losing my clearance. For not thinking things through."

Don's face relaxed; and a soft smile came to his lips. "Nah, Charlie – I didn't agree with you, but I'm not ashamed of you."

Charlie looked overcome at that, and bowed his head, covering his face with his hand, and Don pulled him against him again with his good arm, wondering what had prompted that question at that moment, although he realized that Charlie was still a little out of it - his brother's mind was still half-claimed by his dream. Don smiled wryly - he could relate to that. "I could never be ashamed of you, Charlie – I'm always proud of you." He paused for a minute, reveling in the dampness of Charlie's tears on his shirt, the solid feel of his body, even as he mused over Charlie's reaction. "I need to tell you this," he continued softly, his voice full of emotion, "I've never said it out loud, but I hope you already know it – I love you. You know that, right?"

Charlie, leaning against him, gave him a quick hug, sat up again, and looked at him, searching his face, running the back of his hand under an eye to wipe away the moisture. His brother's statement was completely unexpected. Don had never told him that to his recollection, at least aloud, he wondered what had prompted him to say it now. He didn't care where it had come from – it made his heart sing. "Yeah, I know," he said softly. "But it's nice to hear it. I love you, too."

A smile broke over Don's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as it reached them, and he leaned over and ruffled Charlie's unruly curls. "Well, I'm glad we got that off our chests. C'mon, Dad's getting breakfast ready. Let's go eat."

An answering smile finally came to Charlie's face, and he took a deep, shaky breath. "Okay."

They filed downstairs, like they had thousands of times over the years, one after the other, both of them thinking that a breakfast together was the best possible thing on earth. The darkness and the fear would always be there, but for now, it had been pushed aside like the memories of the night, replaced by a deep sense of thankfulness. As they sat, taking in their father's smile, their eyes met, and reflected an identical swell of love and gratitude that welled up and spilled through them, like the morning light spilling through the window.

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The End

_A/N: Come on, now, you didn't think I could really kill them now, did you? Although - even though I already knew the ending - I sat there crying as I wrote these, so if it's any comfort, I went through the same things you did. Thanks for reading. SG_


End file.
